Page 25 of Murder Most Actual

“My sister.”

“At one in the morning?”

“At midnight. But when I couldn’t get through, I thought it was just the farmhouse, so I went back to the main hotel and tried reception.”

That explained why Ms White hadn’t just stayed in her room, but it had the ring of improvisation to it. Of course, the truth sometimes did. “And then you went back to your room?”

“Yes. And that’s when I saw—what I saw.”

It more or less lined up, and there was nothing else that immediately leapt out. So, Liza thanked Ms White for her time, and Hanna echoed those thanks in a way that was surprisingly un-sarcastic, and the couple retreated.

“Well,” asked Hanna on the way back to their room, “how do you think that went?”

Liza was already tapping notes into her phone as she walked. “Seemed shady to me. Did she seem shady to you? I thought she was being shady.”

“There was an element of shade,” Hanna agreed. “In the non-drag-queen sense. But—” She pushed open the door to their room and stooped to find something on the carpet. “Hold on, what’s this?”

She was holding a piece of hotel notepaper, on which was written, in elegantly nondescript handwriting: I have information. Come to my room—R.

Chapter Ten

Ruby, in the Bedroom, with Suggestions

Saturday, late afternoon

This was suspicious. It was clearly suspicious. So suspicious, in fact, that even Liza thought twice before jumping at it.

“We shouldn’t,” she said, looking at the note with what she hoped wasn’t a hungry expression.

“Technically, I don’t think we are who’s invited,” Hanna pointed out. “I’m not the one she dragged into a supply cupboard last night.”

Liza sighed. “Nothing. Happened.”

“I know nothing happened.” Hanna walked into the room and sat on the bed. “I just mean that if this is a scam to get into your pants, she probably doesn’t want your wife tagging along.”

Liza set the note down on a side table and sat next to her wife, closer than she had been earlier. She took her hand. “If it’s a scam to get into my pants, then there’s no point in going.”

“There’d be at least some point.” Hanna raised a suggestive eyebrow.

“No. There wouldn’t.” Liza upgraded hand holding to hand squeezing. “The only person I want in my pants is you.”

“Aww, you say the most romantic things.” After ten years, it was easy to tell when Hanna was using sarcasm as deflection. Partly because they knew each other well, and partly because she was seldom not.

“Why do you always do that?” asked Liza, more earnestly than she’d intended.

“Do what?”

Liza bit her lip. This had the risk of going to some places she wasn’t one thousand percent sure she was comfortable going. “Like, last year when we went to stay with Mel down in Devon?”

“What? We had a nice time. We like Mel. Did I give the impression I don’t like Mel?”

The worst thing about it was that Hanna wasn’t being obtuse. She could be, sometimes, but this wasn’t a time. “I know you like her. It’s just that you also kept acting like I wanted to sleep with her.”

Hanna gave a not-exactly-smirk. “To be fair, you have slept with her.”

“A long time ago. At university. And I know you were mostly joking, and I know she is kind of flirty—”

“A lot of your friends are.”

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